


The Powerful Play Goes On

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Canonical Character Death, Fix it AU (sorta), Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to canon drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Klaus visits Dave, and makes some new friends along the way.





	The Powerful Play Goes On

**Author's Note:**

> had this idea kicking around in my head for a while, and finally found the burst of inspo to get it out! just a bit of a what-if, featuring two original female characters as family of dave's. took some liberties as far as dave's name, age, etc, since we don't have much from canon! this isn't nearly as angsty as one of my previous fics, but i basically had 'memory bound' stuck in my head the whole time writing this, which might give you an idea of the vibe on this fic haha
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing! 
> 
> enjoy!

Klaus looks up the cemetery when the world is finally righted on its axis.

It takes him a while to work up the nerve—and to get used to computers, since the future they came back to, while similar in a lot of ways, is still very different—but once he’s settled, he forces himself to do it. He sits in his new bedroom at the new Umbrella Academy mansion, a laptop in his lap, and searches until he finds an obituary. It takes a while given that it’s been over thirty years now, but eventually he comes across a grainy newspaper clipping uploaded to an Instagram account.

When he sees the caption, _miss you grandpa_ , he nearly chickens out all over again. He doesn’t look at the account that posted the clipping, and chooses instead to stare at the blurry, black and white picture of Dave. He looks happy in it, a bit younger than Klaus knew him. He traces the edge of Dave’s face on his screen, then keeps researching.

He bundles up in several layers including a recently knitted scarf and catches three busses  and a cab to get to his destination. It’s overcast by the time he steps out of his taxi and stares at the large, ornate sign outside the cemetery. He stands there for several minutes, shivering, until he makes himself put one foot in front of the other, over and over until he’s inside and walking along rows of concrete and marble.

For obvious reasons, Klaus has made it a point to never visit cemeteries of any kind; anywhere the dead might linger is someplace he’d rather not be. But it’s quiet, here. Maybe all the souls are at peace or maybe they choose to hang around someplace else, but Klaus doesn’t see a single spirit as he follows the map written on the inside of his forearm.

Eventually, he finds the plot, and the modest headstone, and grass that’s rich and green. The stone is well kept and the marble polished. Gently carved into the stone is a name, familiar but faded, and two years.

**_David Robert Ward_ **

**_1940 - 1968_ **

**_Beloved brother and son_ **

Klaus swallows a sob. His legs are shaking but don’t quite give out yet. There are dried up flowers resting at the top of the headstone. There’s an American flag stuck in the ground, too, and it waves weakly in the slight wind. Klaus wants to pluck it out and throw it away, but he curls his hands into fists instead.

“Hey, Dave,” he manages to say after a few minutes of silence. “Long time no see.” The words feel heavy in his mouth, like he’s gargling rocks and might choke any second. Tears are clouding his vision and no matter how many he blinks away or how hard he rubs his eyes, it’s useless. Klaus resigns himself to not being able to see for the foreseeable future and sinks to his knees.

He reaches out a trembling hand and traces the ornate carving of Dave’s name. His memory of Dave is more and more faded now, and it hurts. He doesn’t have a picture of him, except for the one at the veteran’s bar, but Klaus tries not to go there much anymore. Even if no one remembers his and Diego’s scuffle, even if something about the new timeline has no one batting an eye at Klaus being around dozens of men in their sixties—it still feels weird.

Klaus closes his eyes and lays a palm against the marble: _hello_.

He’s not expecting anything to happen; he’s not trying to conjure Dave, it only feels right to reach out and touch what he can. He’s ready to be alone in his grief, so when someone speaks, he’s not ashamed to admit he screams.

“Who are you?”

Klaus startles and shrieks and falls right on his ass. He looks up to see a girl, no older than twelve staring down at him. In the distance behind her is an older woman, probably right around Klaus’ age, in fact. She’s busy on her phone, not looking at the twelve-year old girl and Klaus.

It’s times such as these that Klaus wishes he had a power like Five’s, something useful to get out of awkward situations like this.

The little girl leans down and narrows her eyes at Klaus. “Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, nobody.”

“Nobody?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll.” Klaus stammers as he struggles to stand; his hands and legs are shaking so bad he thinks he might be having a panic attack, or that he might faint, _fuck_. “I’m gonna go.”

“Sorry, is she bothering you?” The woman says, suddenly beside the young girl. “Amelia, I told you, it’s not polite to bother others here.”

“But he was touching grandpa’s grave.” Amelia points to the headstone. “And crying.”

The woman stops. She looks at the headstone, then Amelia, then Klaus. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, I was just going.”

Klaus turns around in a hurry. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and wonders if he can make it out of the cemetery without opening his eyes again, or if he can do it while still blinded by tears.

“Wait!”

Klaus, despite his better judgement, stops. He turns and looks at the woman, who’s waving him over now.

“Please come back,” she says. She doesn’t speak very loudly, but the wide-open space of the cemetery carries her voice just fine.

Klaus trudges back carefully and cautiously, bracing himself to get yelled at. “Look, I’m really sorry, but—?”

“Did you know my uncle Dave?” The woman asks, interrupting Klaus.

“Uh.”

“Not many people come visit him,” she explains. “Not since my dad died. We don’t live as close, so we only get out on the odd weekend or, like, his birthday, veteran’s day, that sorta thing.”

Klaus nods and sniffles.

The woman eyes him, but it’s not a wary look. It’s curious. “Did you know him?”

“It’s gonna sound crazy,” Klaus says in lieu of an answer. “We should just forget it.”

The woman reaches for him. “I’m Cynthia, what’s your name?”

Klaus stares at her hand on his sleeve. “Klaus.”

“Klaus,” Cynthia says, rolling the name around in her mouth. “Do you want to stay a little bit? We were just going to drop off some new flowers, say a few things. You’re welcome to stay.”

Klaus hesitates. While he considers the offer, Cynthia ushers Amelia closer to the headstone. It’s then that Klaus realizes Amelia has a modest bouquet in her hands, made up of chrysanthemums. She bends and brushes the old flowers out of the way to lay out the new ones. Cynthia leans down and plucks the American flag from the ground and frowns at it.

“Did you…” Klaus starts. Cynthia turns and looks at him. “The flag,” he adds lamely.

Cynthia tsks sadly and shakes her head. “I’m not a fan of war. I respect what he did, what he had to do. But that’s not how I’d want to remember him. I like the stories my dad told, better. The stories in the photo albums.”

The lump in Klaus’ throat grows. “I can understand that.”

Cynthia smiles at him, then looks back to the grave. After a beat, Klaus shuffles closer. He still keeps a respectable amount of space between him and the girls, but it’s enough that he can read the headstone and feel, at least a little bit, closer to Dave.

“Hey, uncle Dave,” Cynthia starts. Her eyes flick to Klaus and there’s a flush on her cheeks, something like embarrassment. “Sorry it’s been a while, we’ve just been busy. Jeremy sends his best.”

“We brought you flowers,” Amelia adds suddenly. She’s not quite grinning, and her cheeks look wet. “I hope you’re doing good. We learned about the sixties in school last week,” and then she’s off, sinking to sit crisscross-applesauce and chattering on. Youthful joy or innocence or, or _something_.

Cynthia smiles again then takes a step back, and motions to Klaus. “You don’t have to answer,” she whispers to him. “I’m just...curious. Dave died before I was born, so all I’ve got is word of mouth stories, things like that. I guess I like to collect what I can. Sometimes I’m worried…” She trails off, looks to her daughter. “I’m worried someone will forget him.”

“I won’t,” Klaus chokes out.

Cynthia opens her mouth to say something else, but Amelia interrupts.

“Who are you?” She asks the same way she asked Klaus. Klaus watches Cynthia raise an eyebrow awfully high.

“My name’s Diego.”

Klaus whips around quick enough to make himself dizzy. “Diego?”

“You’d been in here a while, I got worried.”

Klaus frowns. “What—?”

“Hello, Diego, I’m Cynthia.” She holds out her hand to shake and Diego responds in kind. It’s a bit surreal to watch his brother shake hands with someone like Cynthia, who screams _normal_ and _suburbia_ , while Diego’s clad in leather and got knives on his belt. _God_ , doesn’t he ever just go out in a t-shirt and jeans?

“Diego, what are you doing here?”

“I told you, I got worried.”

Cynthia looks between them a bit like she’s watching a tennis game. “Amelia and I were planning on stopping at the diner down the road after this. Would you guys like to join us?”

Klaus opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Diego looks to him. Klaus shrugs.

“No pressure. I think you’ve got a few minutes to decide,” Cynthia says. “Amelia and I will finish up, here.” Just like before, she steps away to be by Amelia’s side. It’s a thinly veiled attempt at privacy, but Klaus appreciates it nonetheless.

“You’re following me now?” Klaus hisses, stepping aside with Diego.

“Can you blame me?”

Well, no. “Yes!” Klaus snaps.

“Do you know how many addicts we’d find in cemeteries and shit like that, when I was on the force?”

Hurt twinges in Klaus’ chest, and it must reflect on his face because Diego immediately starts to backtrack. He even holds up his stupid gloved hands in apology.

“I know you’re clean now, Klaus, I get it.” He reaches for Klaus, wraps an arm around each of his elbows and holds him close and still. “I’m your brother, alright? I’m allowed to worry.”

Klaus drops Diego’s gaze—too intense, too much—and nods. “Fine, whatever.”

Diego lets go of him slowly. “Did you want to…” He nods at Cynthia and Amelia.

Klaus nods. “They’re family of Dave’s.”

It clearly takes a second for the memory to spark, but Diego ‘oh’s quietly after a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

“You don’t have to come,” Klaus clarifies. “Thank you for checking on me, or whatever.”

Diego stares at him more, always staring. Klaus wonders, sometimes, if it’s a latent side effect from his childhood stutter: if it’s easier to just stare and try and communicate _that_ way than ever even risk the words not coming out perfectly.

“You coming?” Cynthia asks. She’s wiping her cheeks and Amelia is doing the same. “We’re about to go. We can give you a lift.”

Klaus is about to say yes, but Diego beats him to it. “We’ll follow behind you in our car.”

Cynthia smiles. “Perfect, it’s just up the road.” With that, she guides Amelia back to the car and doesn’t look back.

Klaus shrugs out of Diego’s grasp and goes back to the grave. He crouches and lays his other palm against the marble. _Goodbye_. He shuts his eyes and doesn’t stand up again until his breathing evens out.

Klaus follows a few steps behind Diego back to his car. When Diego holds open the passenger door for him, he slides in without a word. The air is tense in the little Buick, thick. Klaus feels... _so much._ Hurt—that Diego would even think Klaus would go chasing a high, after everything that’s happened. Annoyed, that his time with Dave was interrupted. Confused, because Cynthia and Amelia are the only connection he has to Dave, and he feels like he needs to cling to it desperately. Embarrassed, of what he might say about Dave, and with Diego listening no less.

They make it to the diner in no time, it really is just up the road. Klaus clambers out of the car before Diego’s even killed the engine. Cynthia and Amelia are waiting on the sidewalk just outside the beat-up, decorative white fence.

“This place has the best french fries and pecan pie,” Cynthia assures Klaus, motioning behind him for Diego to follow. “I promise.”

Klaus gives her a weak smile and doesn’t look back at Diego.

It’s almost empty when they get inside, so they’re seated quickly and their orders for drinks are taken in moments. Waters all around, and Klaus gets a coffee for something warm. The table is quiet as Klaus and Diego look over their menus—Cynthia and Amelia clearly already know what they want—but not quite as tense as the car. The air feels more open in the restaurant, or maybe that’s the open windows.

After their orders are placed and menus taken away, Cynthia clears her throat.

“I don’t want to push,” she starts.

“Dave and I served in the war.” Klaus blurts it out, sudden and clunky.

She doesn’t look nearly as shocked as Klaus expected her to. “I knew I recognized you. Your brother showing up only confirmed it.”

Klaus blinks.

“You’re some of those kids from that academy, aren’t you?”

“We’re hardly kids,” Diego protests. Klaus shuts him up with a swift kick to the knee. “But, yeah. That’s us.”

“You saved the world.”

Diego groans softly and Klaus shrugs. “Sort of,” Klaus says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not,” Cynthia agrees surprisingly easily. “But it certainly explains how you served with my uncle in the Vietnam war.”

Klaus ducks his head and taps the edges of his coffee mug, letting the heat burn his fingertips. “I got transported back there accidentally, and landed in Dave’s camp.” And just like that, it’s as if the floodgates have opened. For the first time since it all happened, Klaus is sober and talking about Dave, spilling these stories about their too-short ten months together. At one point he shrugs out of his jacket and pulls up his tee sleeve to show off his tattoo, the one Dave encouraged him to get.

The stories flow like a river, and Klaus can’t stop, even when the waitress returns with their orders or to check on them. Even when Diego stares gobsmacked at him. Cynthia and Amelia never once interrupt, both watching him with enraptured stares. Klaus goes through two cups of coffee and three glasses of water by the time he’s done, and his mouth is still dry but his heart and shoulders are lighter than they’ve been in literal decades.

Cynthia’s a little misty-eyed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That you lost him. And that my father didn’t get to know you.”

Klaus shrugs. “It’s for the best, probably. That day and age… and then, y’know, the whole apocalypse thing.”

Amelia giggles at that. Then, with all the childlike wonder in the world, she asks, “Did you love him?”

Klaus smiles sadly, and nods. “I loved him very much.”

He looks over at Diego, who’s been silent this whole time. Diego’s staring intently at his slice of pecan pie, like it might hold all the answers to the universe.

“I’d like to get your phone number, Klaus. If that’s okay with you.” Cynthia draws Klaus’ attention away from Diego. “I’d love to have someone to talk about uncle Dave with. Maybe I could show you the photo albums sometime.”

Klaus wants to cry again at the very thought, but he nods. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’m crap at keeping my cellphone on me, but I’ll give you my home number.”

Cynthia laughs softly. “You guys still have a home phone? Incredible.”

“Old house,” Diego supplies with a wry smile. It’s not quite true; it’s more like, when they built the new mansion, none of them could bear to get rid of most things, like chandeliers and old phones still connected to walls.

“Of course.” Cynthia pulls out her phone and passes it over to Klaus, then starts to dig for her wallet as he puts in his contact information. “Lunch is on me, boys. Next time, you’re on the hook.”

Diego looks surprised at the mention of a next time, but Klaus simply nods. He hands the phone back to Cynthia and says, “Of course.”

 

 

They stay for nearly another hour, just talking and shooting the shit. Some of it’s about Dave, some of it’s about the apocalypse, some of it’s about Amelia’s classwork lately. Cynthia even gets Diego to open up a bit about the police academy and his vigilante work, and he’s even looking animated when he talks by the time they all agree it’s time to go.

“Can’t wait to do this again,” Cynthia says before pulling Klaus into a sudden hug. “I’m glad you came, today. I’m glad we met, Klaus.”

Klaus hugs her back, clutches at her maybe a little too tight and tucks his face against her wheat-blonde curls. “Me too.” When he steps back, Cynthia makes a beeline for Diego, who’s got a stricken look on his face. Laughing, Klaus turns to Amelia, who rushes at him for a hug as well.

“This was a good day,” she declares, looking up at him with her chin digging into his stomach.

He ruffles her hair. “Yeah, it was.”

Klaus laughs into his hand as Amelia runs over to Diego and almost tackles him in a hug as well. Diego pats her back awkwardly, but he’s smiling. After a few more goodbyes, and another round of hugs from Amelia, they’re off to their separate cars. Klaus watches Cynthia pull out and drive away—Amelia waving from the backseat—but Diego doesn’t start the car.

“Diego,” Klaus sighs.

“I’m sorry I thought you were going to use.” Diego’s looking at his hands, clenched into fists. “I just…I saw you leaving this morning, and I remembered all the times I saw you do it before, and how I never stopped you before…and I just went into autopilot. Hopped in the car and followed you.”

“You could’ve at least offered to give me a ride,” Klaus teases. He leans his head against the glass.

Diego scoffs. “Would you have taken it? Would you have let me take you to that cemetery?”

Klaus doesn’t even have to think about it. “No.”

“Well then,” Diego says, sort of triumphant. Silence follows, until Diego tentatively breaks it again. “I’m sorry,” he says one more time. “About it all. About what happened with Dave, too.”

“The past is the past.” Klaus shrugs.

“I know you’ve got Cynthia now,” Diego continues as if he hadn’t heard. “But if you need someone to talk to about him, or if you just wanna...talk about him, or the war, or whatever, for a bit, you can...talk to me, I mean.”

Klaus hides his smile against the fur collar of his coat. Without looking, he reaches over and lays a hand over one of Diego’s fists. Slowly, he forces his brother to uncurl his fist before linking their fingers. He squeezes. “Thanks, Diego.”

Diego squeezes back. “Yeah, of course.”

They stay like that a little while longer, hands clasped tight and the air in the car finally light, breezy, the tension gone.

“Maybe next time,” Klaus says as they finally break apart and Diego starts the car, “You can actually drive me, like good brothers ought to.”

He squawks indignantly when Diego reaches over to ruffle his hair and slaps at his hand ineffectively.

“Yeah,” Diego says as their laughter dies down. “Yeah, I can do that.”


End file.
